


Follow the Gleam

by vocallywritten



Category: Anne of Green Gables - L. M. Montgomery, Anne with an E (TV)
Genre: All my faves are here, Also a witch, Anne Shirley is an angel, But nothing that wasn't already shown in canon, Controversial House Sorting, Don't @ me about it, Gen, Gilbert is so perfect it's actually annoying, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Mostly to Anne, Okay the Hogwarts AU no one asked for but my sister, Slow Burn, This burn is so slow we haven't even turned the stove on, This is a daunting task, as usual, i have my reasons, my sister needs to be stopped, the hogwarts AU no one asked for
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-20
Updated: 2019-04-23
Packaged: 2019-06-17 01:38:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15450516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vocallywritten/pseuds/vocallywritten
Summary: From a young age Anne Shirley was capable of doing strange things.  It isn't until the equally strange Cuthberts arrive at her asylum that she understands why.Anne Shirley is a witch, and when the Cuthberts offer her a chance to study at a place called Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, how could she ever turn them down? But being a witch isn't always as wonderful as Anne originally thought.  It seems no matter where Anne goes, trouble seems to follow her, and, unfortunately, the Wizarding World is no exception.





	1. You're a Witch, Anne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anne meets the Cuthberts. There are about fifty reasons to be happy about it. But somehow this chapter is 90% angst anyway. Oops

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drum roll please... this is it people! This is the big leagues. I've been working on this story for literal months because my sister had this idea and wanted someone else to write it.  
> So, obviously, this work is dedicated to my sister, who went and found my fanfics even after I specifically told her not to.

The best day of Anne Shirley’s life was the day she found out she was a witch. 

 

It was like every single one of her wildest dreams were coming true all at once, and she wasn't sure if she ought to cry, break out into rapturous song, or pinch herself until she woke up from the most scrumptious and glorious delight of a dream she had ever experienced.

 

Anne had always known there was  _ something _ inside her, churning and churning underneath her skin like an itch and an urge all at once.  She used to let it out, let it flow and do whatever it wished, and mostly, nothing happened. But there were moments, when that  _ something _ unleashed, and she couldn't control it, didn't know what it was, and it frightened her nearly as much as it delighted her.

 

Strange things would happen around her.  Candles would ignite when Anne woke up from a nightmare.  Books she coveted found themselves underneath her pillow or mattress without her even being aware they were there.  The matron didn't like that at all.

 

She took the candles out of the long bedroom, commissioned a new lock for the library, and punished Anne soundly.  Whipping her, forcing her to hold heavy books all through the night, the matron did anything she thought would make Anne the most contrite, or perhaps, she chose the punishments she knew Anne feared the most for the simple pleasure of making the girl afraid.  Anne started holding in the  _ something _ after that.

 

But it was always there.  The itching, the churning, the frenetic  _ need _ never went away.  In fact, the more she ignored it, the worse it got.  The longer she held it in, the worse things got for her when eventually it did burst out of her.

 

Which only made the matron that much more determined to be rid of her.

 

She thought she had gotten her wish when the Hammonds took the girl in.  They hadn’t been as choosy as some of the other families that came to the asylum looking for a workhorse, rather than a child to care for.  They were rather the perfect family to foist the strange little girl onto. Too desperate for the help to ask too many questions, and tied down to too many responsibilities back at home to stay long enough to have a closer look at any of the other children.  When Anne Shirley had been loaded up with the rest of the Hammond’s baggage, the matron had been quite convinced she had seen the last of the little nuisance.

 

But then she came back.  Thinner than she was when she first left, if that had even been possible, a haunted look in her eye, like she had been to Hell itself and had only just managed to claw her way back out.

 

“My husband is dead,” Mrs. Hammond said simply, she had a grip on the girl’s elbow so tight, her whole hand was white and shaking. The woman shoved Anne forward so roughly, the child nearly lost her balance, just stopping herself from falling to the floor. “You’re taking her back.”

 

“You can’t just bring her back,” Matron Dodd protested. “We haven’t the room for her anymore.  We’re overcrowded as it is.”

 

Mrs. Hammond’s eyes were cold, and fierce as she glared at the red headed demon between them. “Would you like to tell her why.”  She said to Anne, low and dangerous. It wasn’t a question, but a threat, and Anne flinched.

 

“Please,” she whispered, speaking up for the first time voice hoarse. “It wasn’t my fault.  It was an accident. Please don’t leave me here.”

 

“That’s enough!”  Mrs. Hammond snapped.  “You horrible, wicked girl.  You won’t even confess to your own crime?”

 

Matron Dodd blinked in astonishment.  “What crime could you possibly mean?”

 

The other woman’s face was a mixture of fear, disgust, and loathing.  “I don’t know where you get off sending a thing like her to us, Matron, but this girl is unnatural.”  Anne flinched, eyes glassy with unshed tears. “She ain’t fit to be in any decent person’s home, what with all the strange things she can do.”

 

“I didn’t do anything,” Anne protested, stepping forward, hands out in supplication. “I swear, I didn’t-” The crack of Mrs. Hammond’s hand across the girl’s face sent her stumbling back, and the rest of her words were lost.

 

The matron could only stand there stunned as Mrs. Hammond straightened her skirt in an attempt to gain her composure.  “The little chit is a menace.” She said severely. “She’s been nothing but trouble since we took her on and now that she’s killed my husband with whatever unholy power she has, I won’t have her around me or mine.”

 

“I beg your pardon?”  The matron asked, horrified.  She unconsciously took a step back, hand pressed to the base of her throat.

 

“She killed my husband,” Mrs. Hammond repeated.  “I don’t know how she’s done it, but she has. One minute he was taking her to task for something, the next, he was on the ground, dead.”

 

Anne squeezed her eyes shut, willing the memory of it away before it could carry her out of the moment completely.

 

“Well, Mrs. Hammond, if what you say is true, then it isn’t safe for her to come back here!”  The matron insisted, glancing wearily in between the girl and the woman.

 

“Ain’t my problem,” Mrs. Hammond snapped.  “I gotta think of the family I got left.”

 

The matron stared at the woman, seemingly at a loss for words. “Mrs. Hammond…” She began helplessly, but no other words came.

 

“You’re taking her back.”  Mrs. Hammond said, turning to the door.  “And that’s final.”

 

She left without another word.

 

Anne hadn’t left the asylum since.  No one would take her. No one wanted her.  Not even the matron seemed to know what to do with her anymore.  She began to fear that she would be stuck there until she died, wasting away in the asylum until she was nothing more than a ghost, silently haunting the halls.  In fact, Anne thought she could feel herself, her very soul, atrophying and weakening as the days went on. She became sick all the time. Her head would ache, her whole body would ache as that itching need seemed to try to break out of her skin.  The more she tried to shove it down, the worse she got, until some days she could hardly make it out of bed.

 

And then the Cuthberts arrived.

 

The day the Cuthberts arrived to rescue her from her own personal hell, was one of those days Anne found herself too ill to get out of bed.  The maid who came to rouse her, however, did not seem to care.

 

“Get up.” She said, yanking the blankets away.  “Matron wants you down in the parlor. There are people here to see you.”

 

Anne sat up immediately, ignoring the painful wave of dizziness that came with the movement. “To see me?”  She repeated in disbelief. “Are you sure?”

 

“Quite sure,” the maid said, shoving Anne’s ratty old dress at her. “Hurry up.”

 

Curiosity drove Anne out of bed, and down to the parlor more quickly than she had moved in a month.  A strange man in a stranger ensemble of robes stood up when she entered, worrying a pointed hat between his hands.  There was a woman with him, similarly attired, though she appeared far more composed than her companion.

 

“You must be Anne.”  The woman said, looking over her with a critical eye.  She frowned slightly, as though disappointed with what she saw.  Anne straightened her spine as she forced her feet forward, and shut the door.

 

“I am,” Anne said with more confidence than she felt.  “And who might you be?”

 

The woman raised a brow at her brashness, but made no comment on it.  “My name is Marilla Cuthbert, and this is my brother, Matthew Cuthbert.”  The man worrying his pointy hat raised a hand in greeting, a small, tentative smile on his lips.  “We are both professors at…” she glanced at her brother, with a look Anne well recognized. It was the look of an adult, trying to find the right words to explain something they thought would be difficult for a child to understand.  Anne bristled at being so condescended to, but before she could make a comment, Marilla continued, “well, a place for special people. Like you.”

 

Anne’s brow furrowed.  “Special, how, exactly?”  Her stomach dropped with a sudden realization.  “Did the matron send for you after what happened with the last family I was placed with?  Because I  _ swear _ I have no idea what happened to Mr. Hammond, or the plates, or that time food appeared out of nowhere in my room.  I would swear on the Bible. I would swear on my parent’s lives if they were still alive. Although were my parents still alive, I would hardly think I would be in a place like this, don’t you?  But I’ll still swear on that. I’ll swear on anything you ask me to because I have no idea how any of that happened and I hardly think it fair that the matron would sen-”

 

“Good gracious child,” Marilla interrupted, exchanging a look with her equally startled looking brother.  “Get a hold of yourself. We aren’t here because we mean you any ill will, if that’s what you think.”

 

Anne finally allowed herself a breath as she glanced between her strange visitors.  “Then why are you here?”

 

Marilla looked at Anne again with that same piercing gaze she fixed her with earlier, and her face softened ever so slightly.  “Well, I hardly know where to begin.” Marilla said, stiltedly.

 

“You’re a witch, Anne.”  Matthew cut in, speaking for the first time.  He blushed when Marilla shot him an exasperated glare, but still stood his ground, only shrugging at his sister helplessly.  “I thought it might be better to come out and say it.”

 

“Yes,” Marilla said dryly.  “Well, I had meant to ease her into it, but I suppose there’s nothing for it now.”

 

“I-I’m a-  _ what _ ?”  Anne floundered, finding herself, for once, at a total loss for words.

 

“A witch.”  Marilla said matter-of-factly.  “A person born with an innate ability to learn and wield magic.  I am also a witch, and my brother is a wizard. We teach magic at Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry.”

 

“But,” Anne looked around helplessly for a moment, and Matthew seemed to understand what she wanted because he closed the distance between them and, gently, took Anne by the elbow and guided her to the nearest chair.  She collapsed onto it without quite registering she had even moved. “But magic isn’t real.” She whispered.

 

The moment the words came out of her mouth, she wanted to take them back.  For so long she had dreamed of long lost wealthy aunts learning of her existence and whisking her away from this place, of knights riding up to her window and taking her to a far off kingdom to rule over them as their benevolent princess.  Anne had been imagining a moment like this since she understood what an imagination could do.

 

And she was completely messing it up.  She should be asking them for proof, not denying that magic even existed. 

 

“Magic is very much real.”  Matthew said, quietly. “It’s just- uh- that is, you’ve grown up with muggles your whole life, and muggles aren’t exactly knowledgeable about these things.”

 

Anne frowned, momentarily forgetting to request a demonstration.  “Muggles?”

 

“A term for people born without magical abilities,” Marilla explained.  “Muggles live separately from witches and wizards, and are usually kept in the dark when it comes to the magical community.  Opening up our kind to exposure is taken very seriously.”

 

“So I’ve been living with muggles my whole life,”  Anne said, slowly, trying desperately to force her brain to keep up with the impossible information being thrown at her, too much and too fast.  “But I’m a witch.”

 

Matthew smiled at her, nodding encouragingly.  “That’s right.”

 

“So all the things I can do…” she trailed off, and did her best to not think of shattering plates, and the smack of belts against skin, and the heavy weight of a body landing on top of her.  She only mostly succeeded. “All these things I can do. It’s magic?”

 

“Yes.”  Matthew said.

 

“Show me.”  Anne ordered, a bit more forcefully than she strictly meant to, but Matthew took it all in good humor, smiling at her a bit.

 

He pulled out a long, thin stick from the sleeve of his robe, and, with a lazy flick, bubbles came floating out of it.  The bubbles joined together and grew larger, and larger, until they enveloped the large couch in the sitting room, and picked it up.  Anne watched, wide eyed, as the old couch twisted gracefully up and up until it hit the ceiling and the bubble popped, which would have sent the piece of furniture hurtling down towards the ground if Matthew hadn’t flicked his wand again, making the whole couch erupt into bubbles.  When they all popped, it was like it had never been there at all. It had completely vanished.

 

“That-” Anne began, unsteadily. “That was incredible!  Unbelievable! Phenomenal!” She stared at the place where the couch used to be.  “That was magic.” She said in awe. “Magic is real.”

 

Even Marilla appeared charmed by Anne’s reaction.  “Yes. As my brother said, it very much is.”

 

“I can do magic.” Anne whispered, still awestruck.

 

Matthew laughed quietly.  “That you can.”

 

Anne looked down at the hands clasped in her lap, white from clinging to herself too hard.  “And it’s- that is to say… it’s good? That I can do these things?”

 

Marilla shot her a look Anne couldn’t quite read.  “Of course it’s good, child. Goodness me, what a question.”

 

“What about me?  Do you think I’m good?”

 

Marilla rolled her eyes. “I wouldn’t know you enough to tell.”

 

Matthew, however, looked the girl over again, and this time he really saw her.  Her pale, haggard face, and her shaking hands. His face softened in compassion as he knelt down in front of the girl, and, after a few moment’s hesitation, took her hand in his.  “How long have you been trying to hold it all in?”

 

Marilla’s face drained of color, and Anne felt a lump of anxiety settle in her stomach, though she wasn’t sure she knew why.  But she suddenly felt as though she had done something very, very wrong.

 

“I read this book once,”  Anne began, knowing more than anything at that moment that this story, her story, would need to be told well if she had any hope of entering the world from which  these strange siblings hailed. “ _ Jane Eyre _ . In it, Charlotte Bronte writes,’If all the world hated you and believed you wicked, while your own conscience approved of you and absolved you from guilt, you would not be without friends.’”  She looks between the Cuthberts, and their bewildered faces, and feels a bit sick. “That line always gave me comfort. Or it did. Until everything happened. You see, my conscience used to very much approve of me.  But these past few months, I’ve begun to fear that the world was right after all, and I really am wicked.”

 

Anne missed the looks of sympathy the Cuthbert siblings gave her.

 

She pressed her lips together, the urge to be sick getting rather strong.  “There was always something inside me. And sometimes… sometimes it would get out.  I was never able to control it. Nothing terribly awful would happen when it did. Just.  Books I wanted to read would appear under my bed. A few plates and glasses have shattered when I’ve lost my temper,” at the look she saw Matthew and Marilla give her, she hastened to add, “It was never often, and no one ever got hurt. Until...”  She looked down, unable to meet their eyes.

 

Matthew squeezed her hand.  “Until?” He prompted, gently.

 

Anne’s eyes filled with tears.  “I-I dropped a tea cup at the Hammond’s.  It broke into a million, teeny, tiny pieces.  I couldn’t have fixed it. But I was so afraid of what the Hammonds would do when they found out.  Mrs. Hammond had a nasty temper when I vexed her, but Mr. Hammond had been drinking that night and he was even worse when he drank.”  Her grip on Matthew’s hand tightened in a premature attempt to keep him there, though she was sure he would pull away in horror when she told them what happened next.  

 

I was so anxious about what they might do that I just started imagining that I could put the cup back together.  I started praying and praying that it would go back to the way it was so the Hammonds would never have to find out.  And then it did. It just… one minute it was broken, and then I closed my eyes for a second and when I opened them again…”  she smiled slightly. “It was fixed. Perfectly put back together. Like a miracle.” Her jaw worked, and her lips pursed. When she spoke next, her voice had gone flat.  “Mr. Hammond didn’t agree. He saw everything, he drug me outside, and he started hitting me. The whole time he was screaming at me, asking what I was and how I did it, but I didn’t know.”  Anne squeezed her eyes shut, tears falling down her cheeks. “All I remember is wanting it all to stop. I just wanted him to stop.”

 

“What happened next?”  Matthew asked, lowly, though he had a pretty good idea.  Matron Dodd had accosted both him and Marilla when they first asked to see Anne Shirley.

 

“He stopped.  One minute he was hitting me, the next he was on the ground.  Mrs. Hammond said it was my fault.” Feeling unexpectedly bold, Anne met Matthew’s eyes, then Marilla’s in both challenge and silent plea.  “She said I killed him. And I… I’m not sure I can disagree.”

 

“Anne-” Matthew protested, though she knew he shouldn’t, didn’t know her well enough yet to decide if she really was a murderer or not.  Something in Anne’s heart shifted at that one word.

 

“If I can really do magic.”  Anne continued, pulling her hands away from Matthew’s.  “If I can make all these things happen without knowing how, or even wanting to make them happen, then who’s to say I didn’t actually do it?  Maybe I did make it happen.”

 

For several moments, no one spoke.

 

“My dear child, didn’t you just say your magic had never hurt anyone before?”  To Anne’s surprise, it was Marilla’s stern voice that broke the silence. “I highly doubt it would have done something so extreme, especially with you as untrained as you are.”

 

“But-”

 

“But nothing,” Marilla said firmly.  “You said you’ve never hurt anyone before, and I am inclined to believe that.  Now what I am more concerned about is the idea my brother’s got into his head that you’ve been suppressing your magic.”

 

Anne tugged at a messy braid.  “Is that bad?”

 

Marilla moved her hand to rub her forehead, but then seemed to think better of the action, clenching her hand and moving it deliberately back to her side.  “Foolhardy child,” she muttered. “Well, it’s why you look so ill, that’s for sure and certain.”

 

Matthew patted Anne’s hand.  “But it’ll be alright now that we know.”

 

Anne wanted to ask what could have happened to her if she kept suppressing her magic, but at the look on the Cuthberts’ faces, she thought better of it.  “So, what happens now?”

 

Marilla took a steadying breath.  “Now, we go back to Hogwarts.” She looked at her questioningly.  “That is, if that’s what you want.”

 

“Hogwarts is the magic school?”  Marilla and Matthew nodded. “Where both of you teach?”  Another nod. “Magic?” Matthew chuckled. “And you want me to go there with you to learn magic?”

 

“That is the general idea, yes.”  Marilla said, clearly losing what little patience she had.

 

It didn’t bother Anne.  It was as though a giant weight had been lifted from her shoulders.  This was everything she had ever imagined for herself, and so much more.  She could leave the asylum. She could go with the Cuthberts and learn  _ magic _ because she was a  _ witch _ .  There was so much swirling inside her that she didn’t know if she wanted to erupt into rapturous song, scream, or burst out sobbing.

 

The smile she gave the Cuthberts could have split her face in two.  “When can we leave?”

 

Matthew smiled, wider than she had seen so far.  “Why, right now, if you like.”

 

“There is quite a bit more to discuss.”  Marilla protested.

 

“We can explain everything in more detail once we’ve arrived in London,”  Matthew said, quietly. “For now, I think it might be for the best that we get her out of this place.”

 

Anne sprung up from her seat, bursting with a new, joyous energy.  “I’ll go fetch my things.” She crowed. “Which shouldn’t take too long, mind you, because I don’t have much.  It should really only take ten minutes, and that’s only because I’ll need to take the stairs. Unless, of course, you can magic everything down here.”  Before either Cuthbert could make a move for their wand, however, Anne threw up her hands. “No, never mind. I really ought to pack myself. That way I’ll know for sure I have everything I need.”  And with that, she ran full tilt from the room with a, “Don’t leave without me, I’ll be right back!” Thrown over her shoulder.

 

This had to be one of the greatest moments in Anne Shirley’s life.  She was going to a school for magic. A place for people just like her where she could learn and make friends and maybe, just maybe, she could make herself a life even better than the ones she imagined having.  For the first time in her life, Anne felt like she could be going home.

 

It wasn’t until she was halfway done with packing that she thought of something that made her pause.

 

Had the Cuthberts said London?


	2. Journey to London

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anne and the Cuthberts get to know each other as they travel to London.  
> AKA  
> Do you want some exposiiitiiiiooooooonnnn????  
> I'm so sorry

As it turned out, the Cuthberts had indeed said London, and Anne had been practically vibrating with anticipation ever since.  In her whole life, she had never so much as left the providence, and now, she was journeying to not one, but two foreign ports.  The school itself, Matthew had explained, was hidden somewhere in the middle of nowhere in Scotland, away from prying, non-magical eyes.  Muggle eyes.

 

It always delighted Anne to learn new words, and now, travelling with the Cuthberts, it seemed like there was a new word or phrase to learn for every hour she spent with them.  In order to find her at the asylum in Nova Scotia the professors had used a combination of Apparating and the Floo Network. Anne had found great pleasure in discovering that one could simply  _ think _ of a place and somehow manage to arrive instantaneously.  Marilla had shot her a disapproving stare and explained severely that it was quite a bit more complicated than that, and Anne ought to have proper respect for magic if she was going to be using it.

 

Matthew had understood her excitement, and, even though Anne could tell he was generally a man of few words, had quite happily explained every question Anne had asked.

 

“I can see why you’re a teacher.”  Anne said after their first day travelling together, pink cheeked from both the excitement and the July heat. Due to Anne being so young and inexperienced with the magical world, both siblings had thought it best to travel as much as they could using Muggle methods, much to the young girl’s dismay.  She had been looking forward to travelling by fireplace, or disappearing, and reappearing in a completely new place. But Marilla had said she “couldn’t trust” Anne to use the Floo Powder Network “safely” yet, and “Apparating isn’t something children ought to be doing until they’re old enough to understand, it’s upsetting otherwise.”  Anne rather doubted anything could upset her anymore, but she let the matter rest.

 

Besides, travelling the Muggle way meant more time spent with the Cuthberts, of whom Anne was becoming exceptionally fond with every passing day.  Matthew, of course, was clearly a kindred spirit, and Anne could tell they were going to get along swimmingly. Marilla, although stern and quite strict, had a certain kindness to her as well, and there were moments Anne was sure Marilla was warming up to her.

 

“What was that?”  Matthew asked from his seat on the train where he had been dozing, tired from the days events, and, though he would never admit it to her, Anne’s constant questions.  Marilla had gone to send a letter back to the school to let the Headmaster know they were on their way, likely to get away from Anne’s chattering, which she only had so much patience for.

 

“I said I can see why you’re a teacher.”  Anne repeated, a soft little smile playing at the corners of her lips.  “You’re so patient, even though I know for a fact most people don’t like it when I talk this much, or ask so many questions, but you’ve been so wonderful and kind about telling me everything you know.  I just want you to know I really, truly, honestly appreciate it with all of my soul, and I hope you’re not too annoyed with me.” She glanced at Matthew in askance, but he only had a crinkled, amused expression on his face.  “You’re not annoyed with me, are you? Because I can stop! I swear I won’t ask you nearly so many questions if it’s a burden to you. That is to say, I’ll try my very best not to ask, and if I do blurt out the occasional question, I hope you’ll forgive me.  It’s just,” she bit her lip, but that couldn’t hide the giant smile blooming across her face. “This is all so new! There are so many things to ask about, and learn about, and I just hope you don’t mind indulging me, that’s all.”

 

Matthew reached across the narrow aisle and patted her knee, a genuine smile appearing to mirror her own.  “I don’t mind it.” He assured her mildly. “In fact, I’ve always appreciated a- uh- an inquisitive mind in the classroom.  You’ll be a good one to teach.”

 

Anne’s smile was so wide it made her cheeks ache with the effort.  “Really? You think so?”

 

“‘Course I do.”  Matthew said, easily.  “With a mind like yours, I wouldn’t be surprised at all if they put you in- in Ravenclaw when we get to Hogwarts.”

 

“That’s one of the houses?”  Anne asked, though she really didn’t need it.  She had tried to commit everything Matthew had told her about the Wizarding World to memory.  She mainly just wanted him to know she had been listening and remembered.

 

Matthew nodded. “That’s right.”

 

“But not  _ your _ house.” Anne said, slowly.

 

“No,” Matthew agreed.  “I’m the Head of Hufflepuff House.  Which is as fine a house as there ever was.” He winked at her. “Though I could be biased.”

 

Anne furrowed her brow.  “I thought Marilla said she was Head of Hufflepuff House.”

 

Matthew chuckled.  “That she is. It isn’t often that two people share the Head of House title in Hogwarts, but when the Headmistress offered me the job, I-” He looked away, frowning ever so slightly. “Well I told her I didn’t think I was exactly right for the job.  So she offered up this solution instead, and it’s certainly worked out for the best I think.”

 

“Are there other people who share the Head of House title?”  Anne asked, fascinated with the school’s politics.

 

“Not in recent history,” Matthew explained, leaning back to get more comfortable.  “But it’s happened.”

 

“So you’re special,” Anne decided with a smile.  Matthew looked at her, startled. “Both of you are.”

 

The older man cleared his throat, sounding as though he had something stuck in it suddenly.  “Well, I suppose that’s one way of lookin’ at it.”

 

“Who’s the headmistress?”  Anne asked, already onto another topic without quite understanding how her last sentence had affected her travelling companion.

 

“At the time of our appointment, it was, ah, Eupraxia Mole.”  He said after a moment. “But she retired the year before last, and she’s been back to teaching Arithmancy ever since.”  Anne made a metal note to come back to what Arithmancy was sometime in the near future. “Our current headmaster is Headmaster Tree.”

 

Anne nodded slowly, deep in thought.  “So then, there’s Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw Houses.” She bit her lip.  “And Ravenclaws are generally more… intellectually inclined?” Matthew nodded, a smile crinkling the corners of his eyes.  “So Hufflepuffs…” she trailed off, and Matthew took the hint.

 

“Hufflepuffs value hard work and- uh- kindness, I suppose.”

 

Anne smiled.  “Then there’s Gryffindors and Slytherins, correct?”

 

Matthew nodded again.

 

“And what do they value?”

 

“Gryffindors tend to be, ah, brave and chivalrous types.  And Slytherins like to take in cunning and ambitious folk.”  The older man explained. “All of the houses have their strengths, I suppose.  And they can all teach you different things.” He shot a glance at Anne. “I suppose it all depends on what it is you want to learn at Hogwarts.  What you aim to gain while you’re there.”

 

Anne looked hard at ground then, a thought occuring to her.  “You said earlier that people go to Hogwarts when they’re eleven.”  She said, very slowly. “I, well I wasn’t sure if I should say at the time, but… well, I turned twelve about four months back.”

 

Matthew nodded, sympathy in his eyes.  “It was bad luck and some very unlikely circumstances that stopped us from knowing about you until now, Anne.  But things will be alright now, I promise.”

 

Anne sighed.  “I’ll probably be very behind, won’t I?”

 

Matthew reached across again and patted her hand, but this time, his warm hand settled over her’s, giving a comforting squeeze. “You’re a clever girl, I know you’ll catch up.”

 

Something in Anne’s face lit up.  “So I’ll be with the children my age, then?”

 

“Headmaster Tree wanted to keep you with your peers, yes.  It’s part of the reason we came to fetch you so soon before term started.  We’ll be catching you up as best we can for the next few months in London, and then we’ll all go onto Hogwarts together.”

 

The smile on Anne’s face was a sad, small, hopeful thing.  “Together.” She whispered, and rather liked the sound of it.

 

To Matthew’s surprise, Anne lapsed into silence for a long time after that, seemingly lost in thought as she stared out the window, out toward the darkening horizon.

 

\----------------------------------------

 

It wasn’t until the fourth day of travel, when they had already seen Anne to bed in the adjacent room they had rented for the night, that Marilla finally broached the subject.

 

“I’m worried about the girl,” she said, keeping her voice low.  “No matter what I said before, I’m not entirely convinced that man’s death wasn’t her doing.”

 

“And what if it was?”  Matthew asked gruffly, not even looking up as he removed his shoes from his place on his bed.  “Sounds to me like it was self defence if it was anything. She’s a child. She just wanted the pain to stop.  And besides, we don’t know for sure what happened, Marilla. We weren’t there.”

 

Marilla buried her face in her hands.  “I know. I know all of that. But for someone so young to use such dark magic, even without knowing… that can leave a mark on a person’s soul.”

 

“She’s had a difficult life,” he agreed, putting his socks to the side and finally giving Marilla his full attention. “That’s for sure and certain.  But I’m hopeful that Hogwarts can turn that around for her. It did for us, if you’ll recall.”

 

“I do recall.” Marilla snapped.  “But it was different for us. We grew up in this world.  The girl…” She shook her head. “I don’t know, Matthew. It’ll be difficult enough for her, coming in a year late.  We knew that when we were sent to fetch her, but now, having met her-” Marilla cut herself off, and took a steadying breath.  “I’m just not sure we’re doing what’s best for the child, anymore.”

 

“Of course we are.”  Matthew insisted. “If we had left Anne alone in that place she would have developed an obscurus in a year, maybe less.”

 

“You don’t know that,” Marilla argued, but even she could hear how half hearted it was.  She had seen as well as Matthew had how unwell the girl had been when they arrived. Obscurial were rare in this day and age, but they had been known to happen, mostly in less populated areas of the world where superstitions still ruled some muggles to a dangerous degree.  She couldn’t ever remember any witch or wizard developing an obscurus so late in life. The oldest obscurial had only been about ten years old, two years younger than Anne.

 

But if there was one thing living her whole life in the wizarding world had taught her, it was not to discount anything as completely impossible.  Especially since she had seen with her own eyes Anne’s pale face, and sunken eyes, as though she hadn’t gotten any sleep in the months she had been back at the orphanage.

 

Despite everything, Marilla had found herself growing rather fond of the girl.  She clearly was both incredibly intelligent, and imaginative, both very important qualities to have in a young pupil.  Not only that, she could tell Matthew was entirely bewitched by the girl, and not through conventional means, but rather with a magic all her own.

 

“I’m not saying I think we have a dark witch in the making on our hands,”  Marilla said at last. “I just think we ought to keep an eye on her for the time being.”

 

“We’ll have plenty of time to keep an eye on her in the coming months.”  He sighed, laying back on his bed, too exhausted from the day’s travels to continue the conversation.

 

“Yes.”  Marilla said, quietly.  I suppose we will.”

 

\----------------------------

 

Anne never imagined she would get so see so much of the world.  No, that wasn’t right. She certainly had imagined going off and seeing the world, but she had begun to despair that it would ever become a reality.  It hardly even mattered that most of what she had seen had only been glimpsed out of train windows, or on ferries.

 

But today was different.  Today, she would not only actually be able to see a wondrous new country, she would be arriving there via the miracle that was Real Magic.

 

“It’s called a Portkey.”  Marilla reminded her, though even she couldn’t hide her amusement at Anne’s enthusiasm.

 

“And what a name to call a thing!” Anne exclaimed, practically skipping down the path as they neared the beach they would apparently be departing from.  “What does a Portkey look like, anyway? Is it… a doorway of glorious, beautiful white light? Oh! Or, perhaps, a golden key that allows you to unlock any door and end up precisely where you want to go?”

 

Matthew exchanged a slightly wary look with his sister.  “Nothing as…interesting as that, Anne.”

 

“Well then, what does a Portkey look like?”  Anne asked, unconcerned.

 

“Oh, it could look like anything.”  Matthew said wryly. “But the one we’re looking for looks like a rusty horseshoe.”

 

Anne’s eyes widened in horror at the same time her nose wrinkled in disgust, and Marilla pressed her lips together to keep from laughing.  “A rusty horseshoe?” Anne repeated, scandalized. “The magical item that is going to aid us in our quest to London is a  _ rusty old horseshoe _ ?”

 

“Yes,” Marilla quirked a brow at her.  “Our kind prefer humbler ways of doing things.  If a portkey were anything like you described, our kind would have been found out years ago.  If it were anything so grand, Muggles would be disappearing and reappearing left and right, and then where would we be?”

 

Anne frowned.  “I suppose…” She kicked at a pebble in the road. “But that just takes the romance out of it all, doesn’t it?  I thought the wizarding world would be of a like mind, and value the spectacle and beauty of it all, over practicality.”

 

“There’s a lot to be said of practical magic.”  Marilla said, bringing a hand to her forehead to shield her eyes from the sun. “Now where on earth could they have left it?”

 

“You don’t know where it is?”  Anne asked, feeling a little uneasy at the news.

 

“I’ll find it.”  Marilla insisted at precisely the same moment Matthew said, “She’ll find it.”

 

Marilla drew her wand from her sleeve, which made Anne wonder- not for the first time- how they could keep a wand somewhere like a sleeve without it falling out.  Perhaps it was a bit like her own bag. One just had to find the precise knack of it.

 

For a few moments, there was some muttering and wand waving, and suddenly, Marilla looked up at Anne and Matthew and said, “Let’s be off, then.”  And walked off the path without even looking to see if her brother and Anne were following. Anne hurried after her, nearly falling over more than once as she tripped over the uneven ground.

 

After a several minutes of walking, Marilla finally stopped short, and Anne nearly ran into her back.  “Here we are.” Marilla said, satisfied. 

 

Anne peered over her elbow, straining to see the portkey half buried in the sand, hoping, perhaps, she would be able to, if not see the magic it was imbued with, then feel it.  But it was just a plain, boring rusty horseshoe. Perhaps a bit shinier than she was expecting. All things considered, it didn’t look too old. She was expecting a shoe positively covered in rust, but it seemed that magic was determined to defy all of her expectations.

 

“What do we do now?”  Anne asked, twisting her mouth to the side as she stared down at the Portkey.

 

Matthew smiled and clapped her on the back as he walked forward. He knelt down next to the Portkey, and Marilla followed suit.  “On the count of three, we’ll all grab on at the same time.”

 

Anne scrambled to the ground, and Matthew took her hand, gripping it firmly, like he was afraid she might slip away.  To Anne’s surprise, Marilla’s hand snaked around her elbow after only a moment’s hesitation.

 

“Now you might feel as though you’re about to fly away once we touch it, but you mustn’t panic,”  Marilla warned, though her tone lacked any kind of bite. “We’ve got you.”

 

Warmth bloomed in Anne’s chest at that promise, and she nodded carefully, taking a breath to steal herself.  “I’ll be alright.” She promised.

 

“Alright,” Marilla said, sounding pleased.  “On your count then, Matthew.”

 

“One,” Matthew began, and Anne gripped Matthew’s hand tighter.

 

“Two.” Blood pounded in Anne’s ears, and she raised her hand to hover over the horseshoe.

 

“Three!”  Three hands shot out at once and grabbed the portkey almost simultaneously.

 

Then the world disappeared into a blur of colors and motion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A couple of things to note, Eupraxia Mole would have, in fact, been the headmistress of Hogwarts at the time Anne would have been going to school. I literally cross referenced the dates to see XD  
> HOWEVER when I was first planning this story out, I hadn't thought of doing that, so I put in the minister character as the headmaster because it fit with a plotline I was planning. And by the time I thought research might be a good idea, and realized that I could, in fact, discover who the headmaster/headmistress of Hogwarts was in 1876 (because of course JK Rowling did that), I had already planned things out and I didn't change it because I didn't wanna XD  
> I apologize sincerely for displacing Eupraxia Mole from her role in power. I can only hope my little shout out in the story makes up for it in some small way. Not a whole lot is known about her, except for the fact that she was definitely headmistress in 1876 and likely not at all of an age to retire at the time, though I couldn't really say for sure.  
> Anyway, if you were wondering who these people were, know that they are people that actually exist in either the HP Universe, or the Anne with An E Universe.  
> And if you were wondering why the Headmaster's name is Tree... it's because he's only credited as "Minister" and the actor who plays him is called Brian Tree. Which... I mean... sounds like a Harry Potter name to me!  
> Also, I am aware it took them a crazy long time to leave Canada, considering where the asylum was, like, geographically. I just wanted to force them to spend more time together. I’m allowed. I’m the author.  
> Anyway, this note is very long, but if you wanted to know the background of why things are the way that they are in the story, now you know XD  
> Thanks so much for reading! I'll see you all in the next one!


	3. Diagon Alley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anne arrives in London. Whimsy ensues

Nova Scotia had been beautiful.  Despite everything, it had provided quite a lot of scope for the imagination, with all the greenery, and little pockets of magical woodlands where Anne would often like to imagine faerie queens and little, friendly elves could be found.  Although, come to think of it, perhaps not all of it had been her imagination. But for better or worse, Nova Scotia had been her home, and she had no difficulty in seeing the beauty of it.

 

London was an entirely other sort of beast.

 

London was loud, and dirty, and always, always in motion.

 

Anne adored it.

 

When she and the Cuthberts arrived outside a strange little pub all the people on the street seemed to walk by without so much as acknowledging, Anne had been nearly overwhelmed by the smells, and sounds that assaulted her quite out of nowhere.  The lingering dizziness from Portkey travel didn’t help.

 

“I may be sick.”  Anne had moaned, holding her hands against her eyes as the low, morning rays of Nova Scotia suddenly became the blinding, afternoon sunlight of London, England.

 

Someone rubbed soothing circles into Anne’s back, and she suspected that person was Marilla, though she couldn’t be entirely sure.  “Wizarding travel is faster than the Muggle way,” Marilla said, almost in apology. “But it certainly isn’t more pleasant.”

 

Anne had slowly blinked as she got her bearings, and her mouth fell open in amazement, which she realized belatedly was not the best idea when she got a taste of the air.  Stale and smokey. Anne closed her eyes again and was amazed to realize that there seemed to be a never ending hum of noise. Everything in her world had been so quiet for so long, her senses hardly knew what to do with the new information.

 

Cracking one eye open, and then another, almost like she was afraid what she was seeing wasn’t real, she slowly started looking around.  To the busy street smelling of horses and people all packed too close, the soot stained brick that blocked the horizon, and Anne had a strange feeling of being both more connected and less connected all at once.  Half of her felt as though she were a part of something, something great, and grand, and human. The other half felt strangely unmoored. As though what had previously tied her to the world around her had quite unexpectedly come undone the moment the buildings of London had boxed her in.

 

“You alright?”  Matthew asked, kindly.

 

“It is a strange thing,” Anne said, quiet and almost reverent.  “To be both lost and found at once, is it not?”

 

Matthew blinked. “I-er- I suppose I wouldn’t know.”

 

Anne smiled at the man, a strange kind of smile for a twelve year old child to have.  It spoke of wisdom and experience, and was somehow both sympathetic, kind, and amused, like the girl was the real adult here, humoring a child who didn’t understand the world.  “That’s quite alright, Matthew, or-” she bit her lip, thoughtful. “I suppose, now we’re in London, I ought to call you Professor Cuthbert.” She glanced at Marilla. “I suppose I ought to call both of you Professors Cuthbert.”

 

Matthew looked almost embarrassed at the title.  “Well, I can’t speak for Marilla,” he began haltingly. “And you certainly ought to call me Professor Cuthbert in front of the students.  But- ah- when it’s just the two of us talkin’... I reckon Matthew is just fine.”

 

Anne’s entire face lit up into what could only be characterized as a manic sort of glee.  “Really?”

 

Marilla scoffed at the two, and might have muttered under her breath about fool brothers being taken in too easily by a tiny waif with barely a lick of real sense in her head.  But even that was a bit half hearted on her part because, despite her best intentions, Marilla had begun to get attached to the girl as well. Not that she would ever be the one to say anything about it.

 

“Before we get to Hogwarts, you ought to call me Ms. Cuthbert.” Marilla said sternly when Anne turned hopeful eyes to her.  “I’m only a professor at school, but you still need to show respect for your elders while you’re with us.” She cast a severe look at both Anne and her brother, who didn’t even have the decency to look abashed at his behavior. “I have no patience for ill mannered little girls.”

 

Anne’s brows furrowed and she looked a bit chastened, and a bit more disappointed.  Marilla tried to not let that get to her. She had taken many an unruly student to task in her years as a Hogwarts Professor, this was no different.  “Yes, Ms. Cuthbert.” Anne’s voice was quieter, her voice a bit more subdued. Marilla twisted her mouth to the side, pushing away a small stab of guilt.

 

“Right,”  Matthew said with forced cheer.  “Let’s get to our rooms then.”

 

Marilla frowned as they stepped into the Leaky Cauldron. “Ah, yes,” she hedged, glancing around the pub, feeling suddenly grateful that the establishment was unusually quiet.  “There are certain matters we ought to discuss now that we're here.”

 

Matthew's brow furrowed.  “What sort of matters?”

 

Anne was getting a strange, sick feeling in the pit of her stomach.  She had climbed a tree once, in the middle of spring, right at the moment of perfect bloom, in order to better appreciate each individual bud in all its glorious splendor.  It had been going rather well for her, too, before the awful moment when her foot slipped, and her stomach bottomed out as she fell to the ground. The pit in her stomach felt strangely similar, as though she were about to experience a rather sudden, hard fall.

 

“We are in a very unusual situation, and as it was partly our fault for not keeping track of you as we ought, we are obligated to do whatever necessary to remedy our mistake.”  Marilla began, trying her best to sound like the teacher and Head of House she was. “However, it cannot be understated how important these next few months will be. This is a unique opportunity you have been given, and I do not wish to see you waste it.  If, at the end of our time together, I have determined you to be unworthy of furthering your education at Hogwarts, you will not attend, and other arrangements will be made for you.” She could feel two pairs of eyes turn to her in shock at this revelation.  Marilla had not told Matthew about this part of their task at the orders of Headmaster Tree himself. Matthew had always been such a soft hand with the children, she doubted he would have even come if he knew that the fate of a child’s entire future in the Wizarding World fell, partly, to him.  It was part of the reason why the headmaster had asked both of them to go fetch the girl.

 

“So I’m here on a  _ trial basis _ ?”  Anne demanded, sounding horrified.

 

“Marilla,”  Matthew protested.  “Headmaster Tree asked us to collect Anne.  Surely he wouldn’t-”

 

Marilla pinched the bridge of her nose.  “You know he would.” She said, warily. “And if she comes with us to Hogwarts, or if other arrangements need to be made for her, that will be completely up to me and my judgment.”

 

“I-,” Anne swallowed, tears pooling in her eyes, though she did not let them fall.  “You mean to tell me, I’ve come all this way, and I might not even get to attend Hogwarts?”

 

Marilla sighed.  “Yes.” She said briskly.  “But if you work hard and commit to your studies, you’ll have nothing to fear.”

 

A stone that Anne had felt sure would never plague her again settled in her stomach, a difficult, but familiar weight.  “Very well,” she said, the bubbling excitement she had felt since the moment Matthew had pulled out his wand in the asylum at last went entirely silent.  “I will try my utmost to become a witch worthy of attending Hogwarts, Ms. Cuthbert.”

 

And with that, she turned on her heel, and ran up the stairs.

 

“Anne!” Marilla called after her, but Anne paid her no mind as she reached the door to her room in The Leaky Cauldron, and fumbled with her key, tears blurring her eyes.

 

“Really, Marilla, this is unreasonable-,” she heard Matthew say before she opened the door, slammed it behind her, and dove for her bed, finally allowing her sobbs to break free.

 

She felt lied to, swindled, tricked, deceived and conned.  The Cuthberts had come to deliver her from the torment of her life at the asylum just like the heroic and kindly relatives in the silly dime novels she had read.  For a moment, a wondrous, glorious moment, Anne had felt as though she might actually get to be a storybook character. That the Cuthberts were going to solve all of her problems by spiriting her away to a magic school where she would learn she was special after all, and not some orphan whose parents didn’t have the decency to stay alive long enough to provide her with anything but a plain name and a sorry lot in life.

 

Anne sniffed, scrubbing at her embarrassingly snotty nose.  She couldn't remember imagining any of her heroines crying quite so unprettily as this.  Except, perhaps, Jane Eyre. Anne could imagine Jane doing a great number of things unprettily.  That was, after all, partly her appeal. The idea of someone plain and strange still being worthy of love and adventure, like any of her beautiful literary counterparts.

 

In spite of her preoccupation with the more fanciful stories in the library, her one great love in literature, her soulmate in book form, had always been  _ Jane Eyre _ .

 

Jane had not needed anyone to save her.  She had saved herself. When people in her life had lied to her and used her badly, Jane Eyre hadn’t cried and moaned and felt sorry for herself.  No, she picked herself back up and made her own way.

 

Anne might never be a great heroine for the ages, but that certainly didn't have to stop her from behaving like one.

 

A careful knock at the door startled out of her reverie.

 

Matthew’s kind face peaked into her room.  “May I come in?”

 

Anne tried to appear dignified as she scrubbed away the tears on her face.  “You may.”

 

Matthew smiled and stepped into the room, though he didn't stray from the doorway, almost as if he was waiting for Anne to throw him out any moment.  “I-ah- I was wondering if you'd like to come do some errands with me.”

 

She narrowed her eyes, feeling uncharitably suspicious of the man. “Errands?”

 

“I thought you might want to start your lessons as soon as possible,” he sounded equal parts guilty and sympathetic, and Anne's ire melted just a bit at it.  It wasn't Matthew's fault, she reminded herself. “So you'll need spell books, and a wand, of course.”

 

Anne's eyes grew wide.  “I get a wand?”

 

“Yes,” Matthew said, relieved to see Anne coming around.  “And if we leave now, you might even have one by the end of the day.”

 

Anne needed no further convincing.

 

\-------

 

Fifteen minutes later, Anne was staring, rather bemused, at the inside of what claimed to be a wand shop.  More specifically,  _ Ollivander’s: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C. _

 

The inside didn't look much like how she imagined a wand shop would look.  For one thing, there didn’t seem to be any wands in sight. Instead, she had entered into what appeared to be a sizable workshop.  Strange bits and bobs were scattered across two work tables, multiple shelves, encroaching onto to counter separating the work area from the front room.  A small handsaw at the back of the shop was busily moving all by itself, carefully separating into pieces, a large, uneven block of wood. In fact, nearly every available work space seemed to be doing something by itself.  Anna watched in amazement as a dustbin and broom zoomed around, collecting the wood shavings and sawdust at nearly the same moment it fell to the floor.

 

A tall, gangly man stood in the center of the shop, humming an off key, off kilter version of something that could possibly have been  _ My Bonnie Lies Over The Ocean _ as he directed the organized chaos of the shop, using his wand as a baton.

 

Matthew, lingering hesitantly at the doorway, cleared his throat.  The man made no indication he had heard, so Matthew tried again. The man hummed on.

 

“Excuse me?” Anne spoke up, perhaps a bit louder than she strictly needed to, but she was tired, and already a little disappointed with what she had thought was sure to be a diverting outing.

 

Every little whirling, moving thing in the shop came to an abrupt and messy halt, as the man paused, wand hand still stretched out mid spellcast.  Slowly, he turned to face the front of the shop, an expression on his face so befuddled, Anne thought for a moment, he might have well and truly forgotten the shop had a front door, much less that people could walk in through it.

 

“Ah!”  The man said, suddenly, making both Anne and Matthew jump, but a clearer expression was on the man’s face, and Anne could always recognize a face of someone freshly returned to reality from a daydream.  She liked him instantly for it. “I haven’t introduced myself. So sorry. Terribly, terribly rude of me…” He trailed off, brow furrowed as though he were thinking of something very hard.

 

“You’re Mr. Ollivander, aren’t you?” Anne asked, unsure.  Matthew had assured her that Mr. Ollivander was a genius, well regarded as one of the best wand makers in Europe.  This man, with tufts of hair, grey and getting white at the temples, sticking out at odd angles, glasses sitting askew on the edge of his nose, and his clothing rumpled like he had spent several nights sleeping in them, certainly didn’t look like what Anne imagined a genius would look like.  He mostly just looked… tired. And a bit mad.

 

The man brightened up at hearing Anne’s question.  “Oh, delightful, clever girl. I am Mr. Ollivander.  Gerbold Octavious Ollivander, at your service, my dear.”  Mr. Ollivander sketched a small bow to her, then, entirely without warning, lunged for her right hand, shaking it vigorously.  “And who might you be?”

 

“Ah,” Anne floundered, staring at the strange man who seemed to be attempting to shake her hand, and examine it at the same time.  “Anne, sir. Anne Shirley.”

 

“Anne Shirley.”  Gerbold Ollivander repeated happily.  “Lovely. Lovely name. Lovely to meet you, Miss Anne Shirley.”

 

Anne’s face split into a grin, quite without the rest of her body’s permission.  “And, if you please sir, it’s ‘Anne’ with an ‘E’.”

 

“Of course it is,” the wandmaker said. “An elegant name, it suits you perfectly.”

 

Warmth bloomed in Anne’s chest and her throat tightened with sudden emotion at the compliment.  “Thank you, Mr. Ollivander. Your name is quite elegant as well. Gerbold  _ Octavious _ Ollivander.”  She said, relishing the syllables.  “It might be the name of a general. Oh! Or the name of a king’s advisor, most  _ trusted _ and  _ distinguished _ .”

 

The corners of Mr. Ollivander’s eyes crinkled with his smile.  “Delightful.” He pronounced, his eyes still trained on Anne as though what she had to say mattered to him.  It was an unfamiliar feeling to her, even after her time with the Cuthberts.

 

Matthew, who had stood in awkward silence close to the door, finally made the very difficult decision to make his presence known once and for all, and cleared his throat.  Again. This time, Mr. Ollivander’s eyes snapped to him.

 

“Matthew Cuthbert,” the man said, warmly, as though he had only just noticed Matthew’s presence, and to be fair, he very well might have.  “Good to see you.”

 

“You remember me?”  Matthew asked, surprised.

 

“Of course!” Ollivander cried.  “It’s not everyday someone comes in with a Horned Serpent’s horn for their wand.  Such a pleasure to work with. And both your siblings brought pieces of it before you for their own wands, too, if I remember rightly.  When it comes to wands, though, I always do.” He winked goodnaturedly at Anne, who giggled. “I don’t suppose you have any more of that for this young lady’s wand?”

 

“Er, well, no.” Matthew began, awkwardly.  “Thing is, she’s muggleborn, and-”

 

“Ah,” Mr. Ollivander interrupted, holding up his hands.  “Say no more, I understand.” He spun around on his heel and bagan rifling through the many, many boxes surrounding the whole shop.  “I keep my own supplies on hand for just this sort of occasion.”

 

Anne leaned over the counter, trying to peek at whatever magical, fantastical items she could, but only spied a few long hairs of varying colors, and a single feather, none of which seemed very magical or fantastical to her.

 

“Now,” the old man said, practically bouncing on his toes.  “I currently have some troll whiskers and kelpie hair, which are the more economically viable options” his mouth twisted to the side. “But they are right difficult to bond to the wood, and, even though the wandmaking community at large would disagree, I find they make for tempermental wands.”  He smiled lightly, eyes crinkling at the corners. “But I suppose if you’re a temperamental witch, you might be well suited to that sort of wand.”

 

Ollivander continued, “I also have a few pricier options, namely some very lovely unicorn hairs, and-” but Anne’s eyes had gone saucer wide at the mention of unicorns, she could barely contain herself.

 

“Unicorn hair?  As in actual, real, live unicorns?”  Anne’s chest was rising and falling so fast with her accelerated breath, Matthew briefly worried her lungs might collapse from the strain.

 

Gerbold Ollivander laughed, delighted at the girl’s enthusiasm.  “Indeed.” His smile turned a bit mischievous, and he looked at Anne like he was about to let her in on a huge secret.  “Would you like to see them?”

 

Anne’s eyes got wider, if such a thing were even possible.  “Oh, may I?”

 

Chuckling, Ollivander waved Anne over, and she wasted no time in darting around the counter.

 

“Careful now, Anne,”  Matthew warned.

 

“It’s quite alright, Matthew.”  Mr. Ollivander said, not even looking up from his collection of wand cores.

 

“What’s this one?”  Anne asked, pointing to the feather she had seen before.  Up close, it was really quite lovely, all reds and oranges. It looked more like a flame than a feather, and she could almost swear she could feel a slight heat radiating off of it.

 

“That is a phoenix feather, and unfortunately not for sale.  A boy from the Baynard family managed to convince a pheonix to give up a feather for his wand.  Quite unusual. Picky birds, phoenixes. It’s a rare individual that can bring me one for a wand.”  Ollivander carefully placed to feather off to the side. “Unicorn hair makes for a very reliable wand.  Though perhaps a dragon heartstring wand core would suit you best. Shame I don’t have any in stock at the moment.  Busy time, summer, I’m sure you understand.”

 

Anne’s hand hovered over the unicorn hair, which appeared to be both pure white, and a shimmering rainbow of colors, only half listening to Mr. Ollivander’s thoughtful ramblings.  “They’re beautiful.”

 

“Touch them if you like,” Ollivander said, pulled out of his ramble.  “It’s alright, they won’t break.”

 

Anne needed no more encouragement, and began grazing the surprisingly soft hairs on the countertop with the barest trace of her fingertips.  She had only gotten to the third one before a strange, silvery light began emanating from it. Startled, she snatched her hand away, staring at the single, glowing hair.  “I- I didn’t do anything, I swear.”

 

To her immense surprise, instead of throwing both her and Matthew out of his store for somehow ruining the merchandise, Mr. Ollivander only let loose a delighted laugh.  “Oh, my dear, you’ve done nothing wrong. But, it appears I may have misjudged you after all.”

 

At Anne’s confused look, Mr. Ollivander continued.  “I do believe a dragon heartstring wand won’t suit you as well as I thought.  Unicorn hair seems to be rather fond of you.”

 

“A…” Anne trailed off, face screwing up in thought. “A piece of hair is  _ fond _ of me?  How is that possible?”

 

Gerbold Ollivander’s eyes turn thoughtful.  “Wands are mysterious beasts to be sure. I’ve made wands specifically for one wizard, only for him to realize his wand works far better in the hands of another.  Now, some people say that says more about the skill of the wizards in question, but I have my own theories on that.” His eyes sparkled, and Anne was uncharacteristically still and silent as she hung on every word the wandmaker spoke. “But when a wand core reacts in such a way, it’s reacting specifically to you.  It’s not unheard of in wandlore for certain cores or woods to call to a witch or wizard.” Smiling thoughtfully, his fingertip traced over the unicorn hair. “Essentially, this core has chosen you as a worthy master.”

 

“Well then,”  Matthew said, speaking up for the first time in what seemed like a long while.  “I s’ppose she’ll be getting that core then.”

 

Anne felt her whole body go warm with happiness and excitement.  It seemed to her that this was the first truly romantic bit of magic to happen to her since Matthew and Marilla appeared at the asylum.

 

“Wonderful,” Ollivander said, affably.  “Now, to find a suitable wood.”

 

After that, the conversation turned to the many, many different kinds of wood used in wandmaking.  Ollivander began asking Anne all sorts of questions to “narrow down the best wood” for her and her unicorn hair wand core.  Questions ranging anywhere from “When is your birthday?” to “Does time have a beginning or end?” to “How do you feel about sweets?” and “Would you consider humanity to be ultimately good or evil?”

 

Everytime Anne would answer, Mr. Ollivander would nod, scribble something down, cross something out, and ask her another question.  Anne tried to concentrate on giving her best answers, but it was difficult to not get distracted when Mr. Ollivander, quite out of nowhere, flicked his wand at a work table nearby, and a measuring tape came zooming toward her.  It quickly began measuring the length of her shoulders, the length of her arms, her height, Anne was fairly certain it even tried to measure the length of one of her nostrils. Eventually he fell silent, scanning over his page with quiet intensity, and then he nodded once more, with finality.  “I think, for you, ash wood will do quite nicely.”

 

Mr. Ollivander then very kindly explained he would need the afternoon to make the wand, and to come back just before dinner.  Then, smiling, he bowed them out of the shop.

 

Anne could hardly contain her glee.  She was getting a magic wand. A wand she could do  _ magic _ with.  One made from  _ ash wood _ and  _ unicorn hair _ .  Nothing could possibly be any better than having such a romantical wand.

 

“Well,”  Matthew began, pulling out a list Anne wasn’t aware he had out of his pockets.  “I suppose if we have the afternoon, we best be getting the rest of your supplies.”

 

Anne blinked at him.  “The rest?” She echoed.

 

“Just the basics,”  Matthew assured her, like he was afraid she was getting overwhelmed.  “Books. Maybe a cauldron. Professor Lynde will be coming down to spend two weeks teaching you Potions. It won’t be much, but you’ll at least know the fundamental bits before you go to Hogwarts.  And you’re a clever girl. I’m sure you’ll catch up in no time.”

 

Anne sighed, her previous conversation with Marilla replaying in her head.  “If I even get to go to Hogwarts. Ms. Cuthbert said she has to decide if I’m worth the trouble, remember?”

 

Matthew grimaced, just a bit.  “I’ll talk to her.” He promised, before leading her to a small ice cream shop (to think, a real, actual ice cream shop! Magic truly made the most incredible things possible).   Likely, the ice cream had been a ploy to distract her more than anything, but Anne couldn’t find it in herself to mind. The novelty treat thoroughly distracted her, almost as much as it delighted her.

 

It became apparent to Anne, as she and Matthew spent the rest of the afternoon cloistered in different shops, that nearly everything about Diagon Alley was equal parts distracting and delightful.  From the wizard bank populated entirely by goblins (which Matthew told her was called Gringotts) to the little shop that sold everything from frogs to owls to students attending Hogwarts, it felt to Anne as though she had stepped into another world entirely.  And, in a way, she had.

 

The rest of the day passed by in a blur until Anne found herself, stomach fluttering with excitement and heart pounding in her ears, once again outside the strange wandmaking shop.  Mr. Ollivander waved at her cheerfully from behind the window, and Anne grinned, racing to the counter so fast, Matthew wasn’t able to catch the door before it shut again, and it slammed, briefly, in his face before he could get it open.

 

“Just in time, Miss Anne Shirley, Mr. Cuthbert,” Mr. Ollivander greeted, holding out a slim strip of wood like a knight presenting a sword.  “I trust you will find this to your liking, my dear. It is some of my best work I think. Ash wood does work so well with unicorn hair.”

 

Anne’s lips parted as she stared in awe at her wand.  It was beautiful. Delicate, and simply decorated, it was everything she had wanted her wand to be.  Tears sprang to her eyes, but her grin was all delight. “Mr. Ollivander, you are an artist!” She gushed, carefully taking her wand between two fingers, and bringing it closer to herself for inspection.  “It is the most wondrous, fantastical thing I have ever had the privilege to see, let alone own. I will treasure this wand until the day I take my final breath.”

 

Mr. Ollivander smiled, charmed, rather than put off by her little speech.  “Thank you, my dear. It pleases me greatly to have my work so robustly appreciated.”  He turned to Matthew. “I assume you’ll be financing this young lady’s educational needs?”

 

Matthew shifted uncomfortably.  “The ministry might have given me a certain sum for supplies and the like.”

 

Mr. Ollivander pursed his lips, sympathy lining his face.  “Enough to cover everything?”

 

“If it isn’t, I’m more than willing to cover the extra charges,” Matthew said firmly.

 

Anne looked about ready to protest that statement, but Ollivander nodded approvingly.  “Excellent,” he said with a kind smile. “But I think we can come to an arrangement to suit us both.”

 

After a brief discussion about the cost of the wand, Ollivander gently took it back out of Anne’s hand to wrap it up.  She felt the loss of it acutely, as though her fingers didn’t work quite as well without her wand.

 

“It’s very rare that I see a young person so interested in the fine art of wandmaking.  You’re welcome back any time, my dear. Perhaps, in time, you may even come here to learn the art yourself.”  Ollivander winked at Anne, who practically glowed at the compliment.

 

Anne was so happy she could hardly contain herself, and in fact, likely did not manage to contain it at all.  She babbled happily to Matthew for the rest of the day, and even managed to have a civil dinner with Marilla, too.  She felt so buoyed by the whole experience, she was certain the feeling would carry her all the way through her lessons.  She was never so determined as she was now to prove to the Cuthberts just how capable she could be. She could do this, she was certain.  More than anything, she knew she could. Nothing could spoil this, she was sure of it.

 

And then she met Professor Lynde.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So just a little bit of background about the whole wand thing in case you were wondering. You might have noticed that Anne finding her wand (or her wand chosing her) isn't at all like how anyone in the books gets their wands. This is not actually me not knowing how the HP world works. This is actually me knowing too much XD  
> Basically, Garrick Ollivander, our main man from the original series, kind of completely revolutionized the way the wizarding world made wands and even approached wandmaking theory single handedly. Before him, wands were not premade so the "wand could choose the wizard". The witch or wizard who wanted a wand would often take whatever magical core they wanted to a wandmaker and have them make a wand for them out of that. Lots of people ended up bringing in things like troll whiskers and kelpie hair, which Present Day Ollivander believes to be "inferior" and "difficult to work with". In fact, Garrick Ollivander is also pretty much the pioneer of the Main Three wand cores (Dragon Heartstring, Unicorn Hair, and Pheonix Feather), because he has seen these three cores to have the most consistantly favorable results in both using and working with them.  
> Before our main man Ollivander, even his father, and grandfather (adorable man Gerbold Ollivander(at least in my fic since we know nothing about him except his name)) used less than premium wand cores and reportedly /struggled/ with them.  
> So the process I had Anne experience is fundamentally different from Harry's wand buying one to make it compliant with the history of the wizarding world we know, but the process itself is based mostly off of my own speculation from like, two sentences in the Harry Potter wiki. I tried to allude to the evolving understanding of wandlore without getting too *wink wink nudge nudge* about it.  
> Anyway, thanks for reading! XD


	4. A New Day With No Mistakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jerry shows up.  He’s adorable, but Anne HATES him.  Rachel Lynde then shows up. Anne hates her too, but she’s a little more justified in doing so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heeeeeey guess who's alive?  
> I have no excuse, I just suck. This is the kind of person I am.  
> But know that you're reviews totally motivate me and I love everyone who has stuck with me so far.  
> Also, hello to my sister, who asks about this like, all the time. IT'S HERE NOW ARE YOU HAPPY?!

Anne Shirley was not one to give up easily. 

 

That was what she told herself over and over as she began her studies.  Marilla was a strict, but fair teacher, much to Anne’s surprise. Had Anne been in a more forgiving mood where Marilla was concerned, the professor’s fairness might not have surprised her at all, but, as it was, Anne had a difficult time thinking well of Marilla in any capacity. 

 

After all, hadn't Marilla taken her to an entirely different country under the promise that Anne would be going to Hogwarts? And now, having arrived in a strange new place, beyond anything she had ever known, Marilla sprung all of these conditions on her! It was the worst of betrayals in Anne's mind, to be built up so much, only to be torn down entirely.

 

Even Matthew, who usually followed his sister in all things, was unhappy with Marilla, though his gentler nature prevented him from being so obvious with his displeasure.  Marilla, for her part, steadfastly ignored both of her companions, preferring instead to teach Anne in her business-like, unromantic way.

 

“Not quite, Anne, you must put the stress on the proper syllable,” Marilla corrected, tapping the book in front of Anne with her wand, drawing the girl’s attention back to the spell written on it. “Otherwise you risk either nothing happening, or your eyebrows falling off.”

 

Anne growled in frustration, then, at Marilla’s stern look, took a breath meant to settle herself.  It only sort of worked. “ _ Vermillious _ !”

 

A single red spark sputtered out the end of her wand, dying before ever hitting the ground.  Anne only just stopped herself from screaming in frustration. A strangled, high pitched cried escaped from the back of her throat instead, and Marilla leveled a flat look at her charge.

 

“Really, Anne, there’s not need for such dramatics.  That was far better than your first few attempts.” She was trying to be encouraging, but by “first few attempts” Marilla meant, “the last sixteen times in which nothing happened, and those two times where you accidentally set fire to the room.” and Anne was not encouraged.

 

“What am I doing  _ wrong _ ?”  Anne asked, glaring at her wand as though it somehow had something to do with her failure.  She had already been in London with the Cuthberts a week, and all of that time had been spent studying theory.  Matthew hadn’t even let Anne keep her wand with her before she learned the basics, much to her chagrin.

 

“Nothing,” Marilla put her hands on her hips, staring down her young student.  “You aren’t doing anything wrong. You simply have to learn control. Magic isn’t all about saying the right words and moving your wand the right way.  If it were, any muggle could do it.”

 

“How do I learn to control something that always seems to control me instead?” Anne asked sullenly.  A warm hand landed on her shoulder, and Anne looked up, startled, and met Marilla’s uncharacteristically soft gaze.

 

“Magic is a part of you, just as your hand, or your foot is a part of you.  Like your thoughts and feelings are a part of you. All you have to do to wield it, is to find it, and shape it.  I know, given your experiences, you may not feel completely in control, but you, and you alone, are the master of your magic.”  The older woman squeezed Anne’s shoulder, and withdrew, looking slightly more comfortable with the action. “Remember that.”

 

Anne held Marilla’s gaze for a moment, then nodded.  She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and tried to find that spark in her soul, tried to gently stoke it into something wild, but not untameable.  And then, with real intention, Anne raised her wand, “ _ Vermillious _ !”

 

A shower of red sparks shot from from her wand, raining down everywhere in a glorious shower of rubies.  It was the most beautiful thing Anne had ever seen. She couldn’t help the laugh of pure delight, as she twirled around the room.

 

“I did it!”

 

“You did,” Marilla said, sounding proud in spite of herself.  Gently, she took Anne’s shoulders and lead her back to her desk and sat her down.  “Now do it again.”

 

Anne grinned.  “Of course, Professor Cuthbert.”  And she raised her wand again.

 

\---------

 

Everything progressed at a much faster rate after that.  Anne had always been an avid reader, but most of her reading exploits were limited to what books she could sneak out of the asylum’s very limited library.  But with the discovery of magic, came also a fascinating collection of textbooks that Anne got to keep all to herself. She had read every book Matthew had bought her in a little less than a week, much to her guardians’ horror, as Anne had elected to read instead of sleep for… several days in a row.  She didn’t regret any of it.

 

Even Marilla was impressed with how much of a quick study Anne was.

 

“You’re progressing at a remarkable rate,” Marilla commented over dinner one night.

 

Anne flushed at the compliment, an intense feeling of pride blooming in her chest.  Even so, she couldn’t help asking, “Does that mean you won’t send me back?”

 

Marilla sighed deeply. “For Heaven’s sake, child, we were never going to send you  _ back _ .”  Matthew shifted uncomfortably next to his sister. “But you have been doing well, and if you continue to take your studies seriously and behave yourself, I doubt you’ll have anything to worry about.”

 

Anne couldn’t help exchanging a smug smile with Matthew at that.

 

“I told you, didn’t I?”  Matthew whispered, acting as though Marilla were not sitting right next to him.  “You’ll be a Hogwarts student yet.”

 

Marilla ignored their pleased giggles, as was her way, but Anne couldn’t help but notice the way her lips quirked at the corners.  They continued their meal in a more companionable silence than they had managed since coming to London.

 

Then Matthew made a small sound of realization. “The Baynards were by earlier.”  He said, wiping his mouth with a napkin, likely a polite attempt to hide the fact that he had just spoken with his mouth full.

 

“Oh?” Marilla asked, not sounding especially interested. “What did they want?”

 

“Who are the Baynards?” Anne cut in, the name sounding vaguely familiar, though she couldn’t figure out why.

 

“Just a family we know,” Matthew said. “Large family.  We’re teaching four of them this year, five, actually, with the youngest coming in.”

 

“What did they want, Matthew?” Marilla prompted.

 

“Well,” he began, glancing uncomfortably at Anne. “They, uh, well, that is to say, their youngest, Jerry, is quite nervous about starting Hogwarts, and they heard about what we were doing with Anne here, catching her up and what not, and they asked if we would be willing to do the same for Jerry.  As a favor. For a friend.”

 

“And you told them no, of course.” Anne said with more certainty than she felt.  Because she had a bad feeling that Matthew had in fact not told them no.

 

“Ah,” he hedged.

 

“Oh Matthew,” Marilla scolded.  “You didn’t agree, did you?”

 

He scratched his neck. “I, well, I may have.”

 

“Matthew!” Anne wailed, feeling distinctly betrayed.

 

Clearly seeing Anne as a lost cause, Matthew turned to the more level headed party. “Marilla, you just said Anne’s made incredible progress, and I’m inclined to agree.  I see no harm in helping this boy as well. It might even be good for Anne to have a peer to learn with, and talk to.”

 

Marilla pursed her lips as she mulled it over.  Anne saw the exact moment her ally turned against her.  “Marilla!” Anne cried, sounding dangerously close to whining.

 

“That’s enough now, Anne,” Marilla said.  “If the Baynard boy wants to learn, we will certainly oblige him.  And the Baynards are a good sort.” She gave Anne a significant look. “You might make a friend.”

 

“How can I be friends with my usurper?” Anne demanded.  She dropped her head to the edge of the table, narrowly missing her plate of half finished food, and threw her arms over herself as a shield.

 

“Don’t be ridiculous.  You will still receive as good an education as we can provide you, regardless of who else happens to be in the room.”  Marilla admonished, returning to her meal like that was the end of the conversation.

 

“But I don’t  _ want _ -”

 

“Anne,” Marilla warned. “Your food is getting cold.”

 

The next day, Jerry Baynard showed up at the Leaky Cauldron, wand and school books in tow.  Anne hated him on sight.

 

Jerry on the other hand, did not seem to understand that he and Anne were destined to be the gravest of enemies.

 

“ _ Bonjour _ , I’m Jerry Baynard,” he said with a polite smile, hand extended.  “You must be Anne, thank you very much for allowing me to study with you.”

 

Anne levelled him with a flat stare.  “It wasn’t my idea.”

 

Jerry’s smile dimmed, and his hand drifted back to his side. “Ah-”

 

“Listen,” Anne began, advancing on the shorter boy. “I don’t need a peer to study with.  I was fairing perfectly well on my own, and I can’t help but see your presence here as a hindrance to my education.  Which, I’ll inform you, is vastly more pressing than your silly nerves. My entire future is on the line in this class, and I will not be held back by some- some  _ child _ .”

 

Throughout Anne’s little speech, Jerry’s brows had drawn further and further together, until his expression was one of complete and utter disbelief.

 

“Um…” Jerry said, crossing his arms. “You’re not that much older than me.  Also, Professor Cuthbert and Professor Cuthbert agreed to teach me as well.  If you don’t like that, maybe you should take it up with them. I’m here to learn, just like you.”

 

Anne scoffed. “I’m already so far ahead of you, I hardly see the point in you showing up.”

 

“I’ve read all of the required reading material over the summer,”  Jerry explained impatiently. “And I’m a fast learner. I’ll keep up.”

 

“I very much doubt that,  _ Baynard _ .”

 

Jerry blinked at her hostility. “There is something seriously wrong with you.”  He said, shaking his head. Without another word, he made his way to his desk, opened his book, and began reading.  Not to be outdone in any academic capacity, Anne stomped to her desk, wrenched open her book, and attempted to read at twice her normal speed, in order to best show off her superiority.

 

“Oh good,” Marilla said, briskly entering the room. “You’ve already started.  I trust you’ve been getting to know each other.”

 

“Yes, Professor,” Jerry said, respectfully.

 

Anne rolled her eyes.  Jerry gave her a look that was at once, bewildered and annoyed.  Marilla sighed in resignation. “Very well,” she said. “Let’s begin today’s lesson.”

 

To Anne’s great displeasure, Jerry turned out to be less of a hindrance and more of a model student.  He wasn’t as quick to pick things up as she was, she noticed with no small amount of satisfaction, but he was hard working, and serious about learning.  Worst of all, he seemed to have had access to some books and materials she had not, which meant he and Matthew and Marilla could discuss things Anne didn’t understand.

 

And there was nothing Anne hated more than not understanding.

 

By the end of Jerry’s first day, Anne was not only sure they would be the greatest of enemies, she was certain she had never loathed anyone more.  Jerry, for his part, seemed to have dismissed her as a crazy person he was reluctant to deal with again. Every time Anne spoke, he glanced at her out of the corner of his eye warily, like she might decide to lay into him again.

 

“You may want to consider not coming back,” Anne said, trying to breeze by him, like she had seen other girls do at the asylum when they delivered a particularly scathing parting shot.

 

“You may want to consider getting over yourself,” Jerry retorted, shouldering past her.  “See you tomorrow.”

 

Growling, Anne followed him out the door, intent on giving Jerry a piece of her mind, if only for the fact that he ruined her perfectly biting exit line.

 

\------

 

It only took two days with Jerry for Matthew to pull Anne aside after lessons. “Everything alright?”

 

Anne forced a smile to her face. “Everything is perfectly fine.”  She said with overly false cheer. “Why do you ask?”

 

Matthew’s eyebrow ticked up.  “You sure about that?”

 

Anne’s shoulders dropped and her whole demeanor deflated.  “Why does he have to be here? I mean I was doing wonderfully well all on my own, and now I have to contend with this- this…  _ interloper _ taking valuable time away from my learning experience.  Surely you see why I cannot be expected to work in such conditions, Matthew.  You of all people have to understand.”

 

She cast a pleading look at Matthew, begging him with her whole soul to have a sudden epiphany that Anne was right, and Jerry was a nuisance who should not be invited back so Anne could get back to studying.  “Anne,” Matthew said, and much to Anne’s own disappointment, his tone was gently chastising. 

 

“What?”

 

After a moment’s hesitation, he put a hand on her shoulder, and bent down a bit to look her in the eye, “I know you’ve been through- well, you’ve been through a lot, even before Marilla and I came to find you.  But you’ve come so far, and you’ve done so well. I’ve- well-I’ve seen the kind of witch- the kind of person- you could become in the short amount of time, I’ve known you.” He bent down slightly further to make sure Anne was looking at him, his face becoming very serious. “You have such kindness in you, Anne.  Make sure you show it, or you’ll lose it.”

 

Anne’s stomach clenched.  Disappointing Matthew Cuthbert, the kindest and most caring soul Anne had ever had the privilege of meeting, was, to her mind, quite possibly the worst thing she could do.  Swallowing past a lump in her throat, Anne nodded. “I’ll try.”

 

Matthew smiled, pride lining every inch of it.  “Good.” He straightened. “Now, let’s see what Marilla’s found us for dinner.”

 

Making their way down the stairs of the Leaky Cauldron to the common dining area, Matthew and Anne chatted amiably about classes and lessons, only for Anne to nearly run into the man as he stopped, rather abruptly in front of her.

 

“Matthew?”  Anne questioned.  “What is it?”

 

“Is that the child?” A rather loud, female voice asked.  “Tell her to come down! It’s not polite to loiter, and I have a great need to see what she looks like.”

 

“Rachel,”  Marilla warned, already exasperated with her friend.

 

Matthew made his way down the stairs, trying to appear recovered from his surprise at the woman’s appearance, and Anne followed close behind, trying to get a peek at their new visitor.  “Professor Lynde,” he greeted. “We weren’t expecting to see you for at least a few more days.”

 

“Yes, well,” Rachel said.  “I came to see my good friends the Cuthberts, after having to find out second hand that the two of you were back in the country, by the way.  Can you really blame me for wanting to make certain that you and Marilla were alright?” 

 

“No,” Marilla said. “How could we ever fault you for your concern?” Though her tone seemed to suggest that concern was not Rachel’s primary motivation, dry as it was.

 

Rachel seemed to pick up on the implication because she sniffed self importantly.  “Is that the girl, then?” She asked again, craning her neck around Matthew. “Come on, let’s see you then.”

 

Anne hesitantly stepped out from behind Matthew, looking towards both the Cuthberts for reassurance.  She wasn’t a shy girl by nature, but there was something so brash and obtrusive about Rachel Lynde, that Anne felt uncharacteristically timid.  She crossed her arms in front of her, then, thinking better of it, put her hands behind her back.

 

“Hmm,” Rachel said, sounding less than impressed. “She’s a skinny thing.”

 

Anne opened her mouth to make a retort, but closed it immediately at Marilla’s look.

 

“Doesn’t look like much at all, does she?”  The older woman began advancing on her and Anne did her utmost to not appear intimidated by the action.  “But, I suppose looks can be deceiving…”

 

Anne blinked. “Excuse me?”

 

“Well, let’s see what you’ve learned then.”  Rachel said, making her way up the stairs to the room they had been using as a classroom.  When Anne did not move, the woman made an impatient sound, “Come on then.”

 

“What, right now?”  Anne asked.

 

“Anne has already finished her lessons for the day.”  Marilla protested. “It’s getting late. Surely this can wait until tomorrow.”

 

“Nonsense Marilla, there’s no time like the present, and besides,” Professor Lynde gave Anne an appraising look.  “I’m eager to see how Miss Shirley measures up.”

 

“Really Rachel,” Marilla began.

 

But Anne could feel herself bristling at the challenge.  “It’s alright,” she interrupted. “I can do it.”

 

A smug smile spread across Rachel’s face.  “Wonderful.”

 

An hour into the lesson, however, Anne was beginning to seriously regret rising to the woman’s bait.  Rachel Lynde was nothing less than a taskmaster in the classroom. Every mistake Anne made, no matter how small, was immediately chastised and rudely corrected.

 

Professor Lynde had decided to jump directly into potion making, and Anne, who had always considered herself equal to any task, simply could not keep up with the woman’s brisk, rapidfire orders.

 

“That is an appalling technique,” Professor Lynde bemoaned.  “Is your aim to get half the potion on the floor? And why haven’t you added the foxglove and ginger yet?  You’ll ruin the whole batch if you don’t hurry.”

 

Anne’s eyes strung with tears as she frantically tried following the instructions.  “But the book says to wait to add the ginger until the end.”

 

“It says to put in the foxglove and ginger  _ near _ the end, when the potion has turned a bright lavender. Which it has.”  The woman said, hands on hips. “Good heavens, child, can’t you read? Are you really so incapable of following simple instructions?”

 

Anne clenched her jaw, and willed the tears stinging her eyes not to fall.  Deciding it best to get the whole ordeal over with as soon as possible, and grabbed handfuls of foxglove and ginger and threw them roughly into the cauldron.

 

The potion, which was meant to turn a lighter shade of lavender and then fade into a slightly opaque pinkish color, instead turned a violent shade of orange.  Anne frowned at the caldron, half in confusion, half in concern. Hadn’t she done it right?

 

She had her answer when the whole thing exploded.

 

Anne shrieked, and moved to protect her face from the scalding liquid.  When, after a moment, she still hadn’t been hit, she opened her eyes, and, slowly, moved her hands back to her sides.  Where before, there had sat a large cauldron, there was, instead, a harmless desk, and no orange potion to be seen.

 

“Oh, you foolish, foolish,  _ foolish _ girl!”  Professor Lynde howled, tucking her wand back into her robes.  “Never in all my years of teaching have I ever come across such a hopeless student.  Did you listen to  _ nothing _ I tried to tell you?”  She glared at Anne. “Tell me, did you purposely sabotage that recipe, or are you truly that stupid?”

 

“I hate you!”  Anne screamed, tears running down her face.  “You are a loathsome, awful woman, and I hate you!”

 

Rachel Lynde sputtered, red in the face, and completely unable to get a single word out.  Anne didn’t care. She was past the point of caring about anything but how angry she was.

 

Anne ran out the door nearly running into both the Cuthberts, who, drawn by the commotion, had been making their way up the stairs.  Matthew and Marilla shared a bewildered look, and called after her. 

 

“I hate her!” Anne shrieked, before slamming the door to the Leaky Cauldron and running off into the growing dark.

 

The Cuthberts stared at the door, still shivering from the force of Anne’s exit.  Matthew looked indecisively between the door, the classroom, and Marilla.

 

“I think I’ll go after her,” he muttered, ducking his head as he hurried down the steps.  Marilla did his the courtesy of waiting until he had gone out the door before confronting her old friend.

 

“Rachel!” Marilla called to the woman, who came out of the classroom, looking quite frazzled.  “What on earth happened up there?”

 

“What happened?”  Rachel snapped. “That girl is a complete menace to society, that’s what happened.  She won’t be taught.”

 

Marilla’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Anne won’t be taught?”

 

“That’s right,” Rachel huffed, coming to stand a few steps above her taller friend.  Marilla met her gaze, bewildered. “I’ve never seen a less capable student in my life.  Honestly, Marilla, are you sure you even have the right girl? She’s practically a muggle.

 

“Anne has never been anything but a model student for us.”  Marilla said.

 

“Well,” Rachel waved her hand, as if waving away the very concept of Anne being a model anything. “That temper of hers is a problem, to be sure. I certainly hope that, if nothing else, this has convinced the both of you that the girl isn’t ready to attend Hogwarts, and likely never will be.”

 

Marilla pursed her lips. “Really, Rachel, do you have to be so hard on the girl?”

 

“Are you taking her side?”

 

“Of course not, Anne has been very disrespectful, and she will face the consequences.  But really, the girl’s had a hard enough time as it is without you coming in and rubbing in her ignorance.  You’re a better teacher than that.”

 

Professor Lynde gaped at Marilla, mouth moving like she wanted to say something, but nothing came out, save a very offended and indignant, “ _ Well. _ ”

 

She took her leave not long after that, making up a half hearted excuse about having a headache, which Marilla knew meant Rachel really wanted to go have a sulk.  Marilla would have retired herself, but Matthew and Anne hadn’t returned, and it was getting dark.

 

Almost as though she had summoned him with her worry, Matthew burst back into the room, out of breath.  For the briefest of moments, Marilla was relieved, until she saw that Matthew was alone. “I couldn’t find her anywhere. I think she might have left Diagon Alley all together.”

 

Marilla shot up from her seat, eyes wide with fear.  “Foolish girl.” She cursed. “Are you certain?”

 

Matthew nodded.  “The locating charm didn’t find any sign of her.”

 

Muttering more curses as she went, Marilla threw her cloak around herself, and wound a scarf around her neck.  “Let’s go then. We’ve got a child to recover.”

 

Matthew didn’t need telling twice.

  
  



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